


Time is Taller Than Space is Wide

by notabadday



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (but who am i kidding this is clearly a fitzsimmons fic), (most of the team features), F/M, this is not a pro-ward place to be y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabadday/pseuds/notabadday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following on from the events of 'Many Heads, One Tale', having discovered Hydra's fixation with the monolith, Ward captures Simmons to find out everything she knows about it. Things go from bad to worse for her when Fitz arrives, bruised and bloodied. </p><p>  <i>“I was doing what we always do,” he says, his voice broken by the tears she sees rising to the surface. “I thought we could fix it. Together.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Time is Taller Than Space is Wide

When one of Ward’s lackeys drags Simmons into the sinister basement, she’s pulling defiantly against his grip. She’s not trying to escape. But she won’t be hauled around. Ward seems to realize too, stepping out of the shadows to assure his ally, “She’s not going to run, are you Simmons?” His lips curl to a wicked smile, a disturbing echo of good times long past.

 She’s hardened to him now. Simmons finds ‘Ward the villain’ rather passé. That menacing drawl wears thin after a while. She is no victim. Ward is no threat. Her eyes roll at his intimidation tactics.

 “Been a while,” he says, by way of introduction.

 He picks up on her composure and is forced to swiftly reacquaint himself with this new Simmons. That awkward uprightness of the first Simmons has decayed under cruel storms; that frightened hesitation of the last Simmons has dissolved.

 She is steely. She will not waver.

 “I’ll hazard a guess there’s nothing about this you can’t tell me,” Ward says, gesturing to the monolith he has positioned on a table in the center of the room, a petite recreation of her old nemesis, like a gift shop model designed to commemorate her trauma. “So, I suggest you open up. Or else, well…” And it’s the unsaid that sends shivers down her spine. “Why don’t we bring Fitz in here? You can have a nice heart-to-heart before you both die.”

 It’s minutes that feel like hours before Fitz appears, gaunt and pale. There’s blood and bruises marking his face, spoiling stories she never wants told. Another Hydra mercenary is dragging him violently into the dark room. They lock eyes, a thousand words passing inside their glance, before he stumbles a little, slumping as though he might wretch. He doesn’t.

 Ward watches the interaction between them, curiosity narrowing his eyes. They say nothing; they give nothing.

 “Did you ever tell her how you feel?”

 It hangs in the air.

 Fitz’s mouth gapes at the temerity of the question. Looking at Fitz’s tight fists, knuckles a ghostly white, Simmons can see the visceral response that she’s managing to repress building beneath his surface. His expression turns dark, as though if ever they were to discover he had Hulk-like powers, it would be now. Now might be a good time for a Hulk smash. Ward would be a worthy target.

 Fitz’s face burns red. She feels the flush of color with him. His senses are hers. She wordlessly begs him to steady himself, to reach for those meditational exercises she learned with him. He closes his eyes, message received. She studies the tremors, waves of them crashing against his sides as trembling hands tighten and relax in bursts. Simmons remembers his list: warm fires and snowmen in old scarves and laughter. As his eyes shut tighter, he draws his lips together and she involuntarily echoes the action; they taste the memory of each other’s lips, the residue of Simmons’ lip balm having flavored their kiss with a strawberry sweetness that she’d watched him savor.

 Fitz’s hands begin to still. It prompts her to breathe a breath she hadn’t noticed herself holding in. When she watches him open his eyes, she sees sinking heartbreak spread through his expression. Tears rise to his waterline, a glossy sheen over the whites of his eyes giving him away. She can see, despite the aching distance between them. It’s that realization all over again: hell.

 “That always was your weakness,” Ward comments, under the pretence of friendly advice. The sadistic undertone gives away his true intentions. “It’s dangerous… to let yourself love someone. Especially when they don’t love you back. She always was your Achilles heel,” he tells Fitz, the scowl of Simmons burning holes into his skin. “I mean, let’s face it, if it wasn’t for me, you’d have been killed floundering around trying to save her when she jumped off that plane.

 “And now you’ve given Hydra everything they’ve been waiting for. You’ve really made things easy for me with the top brass. Intel on the only person to ever come back through the portal?” Ward sneers. “I have to thank you. After a few hundred years, the news came as quite the morale booster.”

 “Go to hell,” Fitz spits.

 “Why don’t we all take a trip together?” he replies in a terrifying laugh.

 Simmons shudders. It runs through her whole body. _That place_. The very place she has been working tirelessly alongside Fitz to return to, their rescue operation having unwittingly put the entire world in danger. She internalizes the weight of it. Those nightmares haunt her with cruel persistence. But guilt will not save them. Guilt will not save _him_ , her love.

 She shoots him a look, strength performed as an offering of comfort. Fitz’s lips tighten. It’s not a smile. It’s an apology, it’s fear, it’s concern, it’s heartache; it’s everything she’s never needed – never _wanted_ – from Leo Fitz.

 “It’s touching, really, that you two are as predictable as you always were,” Ward says, letting out a sigh. “Never cut out for fieldwork. Too many tells. You’ll want to start talking soon. My friend here,” he nods to the lackey whose presence had been long forgotten, “has plenty of creative ideas for getting the information we need. I suggest you make this easy.”

 “What you think is weakness, it’s not,” Fitz says, resolute determination transparent through his tears.

 “Noble as always.”

 “It’s courage. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Fitz is shaking. It’s not fear but anger. Simmons tries to capture his attention, to offer a look that might soothe him, but his eyes don’t meet hers.

 “Oh, Fitz,” Ward says, in a disturbing imitation of the way he remembers Simmons saying it all that time ago. “I’m not accusing you of cowardice. Love makes you brave to the point of careless because Simmons… Well, there’s nothing you won’t do to protect her, is there? Why don’t we see if there’s anything she won’t do to protect _you_?”

 “You’re an idiot,” Simmons snaps.

 “Excuse me?”

 “You heard me. An idiot.”

 “Oh, do explain,” he replies with all the smarmy derision Simmons knows to expect.

 “Well, to begin with, I overheard your minions talking to each other about ‘cutting S.H.I.E.L.D. off at the head’,” she says with air quotes, “and going after Coulson. You think killing Coulson is going to bring down S.H.I.E.L.D.? He’s no mastermind." She inadvertently scoffs at the notion. “Coulson is a symbol of unity within what’s left of an admittedly fractured organization. You kill him and _he_ becomes the martyr. The team will unite to, oh, wait for it, _avenge_ him. I can’t imagine a more unifying cause. Just imagine, old friends coming out of the woodwork to lend a helping hand. And who is Public Enemy Number One? Well, I’m guessing that would be the former agent Grant Ward.”

 Fitz turns to look at Simmons, full of admiration. He hasn’t witnessed this version of her before. It’s the Simmons who placed herself in exile, who operated undercover at Hydra for months, who almost killed the man now standing in front of them full of threats.

 “And, more to the point, you seem to be under the impression that you can use Fitz to break me. I don’t have the answers.” She laughs a cold, empty chuckle, steeling herself. “I can give you some truly enlightening tourist information before you go diving into that black hole, but that’s about all I’ve come up with besides some pretty well-founded criticism of your logo. Dick and balls, much?”

 In her periphery, she sees Fitz’s eyes brighten. It warms her immensely, pushing her to continue. His bravery spills into her, blending with adrenaline. The two Hydra underlings, whose silent presence has gone largely ignored, begin to muster machismo, broadening their shoulders to ensure their authority is felt. It moves their attention away from restraining the young scientists, their physical threat seeming minimal, and Simmons’ arms escape the grip of her designated guard, allowing her to slide one hand into her pocket to emphasize her casual demeanor.

 Simmons’ tone adopts such extreme self-assurance that Ward can’t help but give away his irritation. She talks fast, making interruptions difficult, as she persists: “Well, there’s not a whole lot of sun so you can forget about sunscreen or shades – I know you love shades. Oh,” she laughs, dorky, like she’s imitating a former version of herself just as he did, “classic Ward.

 “Lip balm is essential. Conditions’ll dry out those lips in a heartbeat and you don’t want to have your big first meeting with King Inhuman McDeathy with chapped lips, I don’t imagine. What else, oh-”

 She is interrupted by a thump around the head. Fitz lunges forwards.

 Suddenly grateful for the lazy arrival inspection, Simmons has grabbed and stabbed in one smooth motion – her shiv left behind in the wound – before Fitz even has chance to worry about her. Instinctively, he gives a coded blink as she looks up, before pulling what appears to be a splinter bomb out of his ass, or rather, a back pocket.

 He throws it at Ward’s feet, the gesture alone sending the other Hydra crony to shield his boss. Simmons’ eyes lock shut.

 The flash of the decoy splinter bomb knocks Ward and his buddy to the floor, giving Fitz and Simmons their chance to escape. He reaches for her hand blindly, and with the other she grabs the miniature monolith as they sprint out of the dingy bunker that Ward now calls home.

 Fitz grips her hand tight. She knows from experience that it can mean the difference between life and death. They just have to hold on.

 Most of the exits are disguised. Their research proves crucial. It’s a maze designed to torment attempted escapees, but Fitz and Simmons were always a dab hand at puzzles. Fitz leads the way, guiding them through abandoned hallways and around corners that she fears conceal nasty surprises.

 It’s almost a shock when they see daylight again. The remodeled plane comes into view, its camouflage lifting briefly in invitation.

 They run and run to it, adrenaline moving them forward as Simmons begins to doubt whether she can hold the sprint all the way. The clasp of their hands is clammy, but its comfort doesn’t diminish. They keep running, hands locked together all the way before Hunter and Bobbi greet them in the loading bay, with Bobbi calling, “Now!” into the plane comms system as they make it to safety. They stumble a little, breathless and unsteady, as the plane lifts off without delay.

 “Oh, thank God!” Hunter exhales dramatically before Simmons thrusts the glass-encased mini monolith at him, much to his discontent.

 “You need – to take it – to the proper – storage – facility…” she says, panting desperately for breath as he looks at her with comical indignation.

 Bobbi rolls her eyes, grabbing it and charging off only to have him follow her.

 “Did he hurt you?” Fitz says, the moment they’re left alone again. His hand tends to her forehead. Perhaps there’s a bruise there. She hasn’t noticed.

 “Oh,” she replies, almost forgetting what he can be referring to. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

 He doesn’t look overly reassured but his hand retreats.

 “Why did you come after me?”

 Fitz stays silent, bowing his head.

 “You could’ve undermined _everything_.”

 “I was doing what we always do,” he says, his voice broken by the tears she sees rising to the surface. “I thought we could fix it. _Together_.”

 She feels such a surge of emotion a part of her wonders if perhaps her heart might actually have broken. Impossible for a thousand different reasons, sure, but she still can’t rule it out. 

“Fitz, fieldwork is different. Just knowing you’re in danger, my mind…” Simmons says, crying just the same as him. “I could barely keep it together in there. And he _knew_ that. We were seconds away from Ward taking advantage of the fact that I couldn’t have allowed one more bruise on your skin before I told him every little detail I know. You’re my tell. You’re my weakness. 

“And you’re the same, aren’t you? Is there anything? You’re the most truly good person I’ve ever known, but if he had a gun to my head, is there anything you wouldn’t do?

 “We _can’t_ be selfish, we _can’t_ choose each other – not when it’s evil Inhumans and alien portals against the world. But I _would_. I would do anything to protect you and that puts just about every single thing we’re working towards at risk,” she finishes, her voice sharp and uneven.

 He seems to accept her assertion without argument, watching silently as she gathers composure and wipes her eyes. She contemplates reassuring him, insisting that despite her valid criticisms, he did good work back there. Something stops her.

 “We should report back to Coulson,” she adds, following the same path as Bobbi and Hunter without waiting for him to follow.

 

* * *

 

When Simmons reaches the control center of the plane, where Daisy, Mack, Hunter, Bobbi and Coulson are all gathered, all heads turn to her. There’s a beat. Simmons reads the admiration marking their expressions, and watches it change to relief. Daisy then rushes her with a hug, arms encasing her so tightly she can barely breathe. Simmons pats a grateful hand on her friend’s back and smiles.

 “Hey.”

 “Thank God you’re okay,” Daisy says, looking over Simmons’ shoulder just as Fitz comes into view. “And you–”

 “I know,” he interjects.

 “Fitz, you gotta learn to trust the mission, mate,” Hunter says, a soft, friendly tone to counter the chastising looks on Coulson, Mack, Simmons and Bobbi’s faces.

 Fitz stays quiet. Simmons waits for him to offer his rebuttal but it never comes. He doesn’t even take the opportunity to mock Hunter’s sudden and uncharacteristic regard for rule following. Not a word.

 “You compromised a fellow agent’s operation. That is unacceptable,” Coulson states, cold and unyielding. “It was Simmons’ plan. She was to feign capture, get into that bunker alone and retrieve the monolith by any means necessary. You raised your concerns with me and I listened, but ultimately, it was the best plan on the table. Simmons knew the risks going in. You are not the boss here, Agent Fitz. You don’t get the final say.”

 “We got it done,” Simmons says quietly, offering a cool defense. He saved her life, in his own disobedient way; that has to count for something. “Fitz got us out of there.”

 “Is Ward–?” Bobbi starts.

 “He’s alive,” she replies, sharing in the group’s disappointment. “Fitz used a decoy splinter bomb to get us out.”

 “Why’d you use a decoy? You should have killed that son of a bitch while you had the chance,” Hunter complains, earning a few judgmental glares from his teammates. He shrugs his defense.

 “I couldn’t risk it getting into the wrong hands. The decoy did what we needed,” Fitz says, defending himself for the first time.

 “We need to work on your killer instinct,” Hunter suggests.

 “Babe.” Bobbi scolds him.

 “I’m just saying–”

 “Because you did such a great job of killing him when you had your shot,” Daisy mutters.

 “Hey, I–”

 “She’s got a point, man," Mack chimes in.

 Quickly, it turns into a chaotic wall of sound as Hunter attempts to defend himself against Daisy, Mack and Bobbi. Coulson sighs heavily before interrupting the cacophony of squabbling with a simple, “ _Everyone_.” His sternness is replaced by mere irritation, as though someone drank from his Grumpy Cat mug and failed to wash it up.

 “Is the monolith–?” Simmons begins.

 “It’s in containment.”

 “We should do it as soon as possible,” she insists.

 The team nod. Even Coulson seems to take her direction. Fitz is the only one not to offer his approval, too caught up in his own mess of emotions about the danger they’ve just narrowly escaped. Simmons studies him to understand. His furrowed brow gives away such a sad mix of confusion and exhaustion. She seeks his eye-line, but his gaze remains fixed to the ground.

“Fitz, we’ll need your help,” she says timidly, hoping he’ll be on side despite their exchange of words. When he looks up, there’s a question in his eyes. “You know this thing better than anyone. We need to destroy it. You and Daisy, you guys have to make sure it’s as impotent as the original monolith.”

“We’re destroying it?”

 They all look at Fitz, perplexed by his question. Coulson speaks first: “We need to remove any chance Hydra has of ever getting their hands on it. The entire world is at risk while there are still pieces of that portal that remain active.”

 “But what about–”

 “It’s too dangerous. We have to destroy it.” Simmons speaks firmly and watches it sink in. She bites at her bottom lip before clarifying, “I wanted to save Will, of course, but the risk is too great.”

 A tactful exchange of glances between the group prompts them all to make a timely exit. They sneak away unnoticed. Daisy is the only one who hesitates, curiosity begging her to linger, but she reluctantly follows the others away. Fitz and Simmons have disappeared into their tunnel with only eyes for each other.

 Once they’re alone, the air suddenly breathable, Fitz looks at her with so much concern, that stabbing pain winds her all over again.

 “Are you sure?” he asks, and it’s genuine – she knows it’s genuine. She knows that if she asked him to stop at nothing, even now, he’d find a way for her. “We could–”

 “I’ve come to terms with it, Fitz.”

 “I thought… I thought I understood…” 

“What?”

 “Back there you told me I compromised your plan, that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect me,” he says, his Scottish brogue delicately dancing over the words. “But before, when we were in the lab, you told me you love him, and now you’re just… giving up.”

 Simmons’ expression is one of utter incredulity. “When will you understand? There are a million ways to love somebody that will never compare to how I feel about you. The things I would do for you, _anything_ – it’s only you, Fitz.”

 Fitz closes the gap between them and envelops her in a hug, tearstains marking each other’s shoulders.

 “I can’t forgive myself for giving up hope. If I could go back…” she whispers, turning her face into his neck, breathing against his skin and feeling his shiver. “I have hope now, though. I hope we’ll be happy again. I hope that our first kiss – _kisses_ – won’t be our last. I hope that one day you’ll believe me, trust me, that I love you in ways I think the universe created just for us.”

 He pulls away to look at her, the close-up almost dizzying. His lips tremble and she knows what he’s about to do. Blue eyes drop from her gaze to her lips.

 Hand on her waist, he draws in a breath, pulls her tight against him and presses his lips urgently to hers. She uses one hand to appreciatively hold his head close, moving gently through his hair to encourage the kiss. It’s long and passionate, and when it ends, he moves his forehead to rest against hers but it lasts only seconds before he’s lured into another kiss. She smiles against his still-trembling lips, her confidence compensating for his lack thereof. Eventually, it draws a shaky smile out of him and she pulls away to appreciate it.

 “We’re not cursed,” she promises, the palm of her hand now held to his cheek as her fingers affectionately tease the lobes of his ears. “We have so much time, Fitz. We have the rest of our lives.”

 “Well done on saving the world today, by the way,” he says, his voice unsteady before he clears his throat.

 “You played your part too,” she replies modestly.

 “You’ve changed your tune.”

 “Well I’m not denying we make quite the duo. But let’s, in future, save it for the lab and the…” Simmons raises both eyebrows suggestively, and he laughs nervously, cheeks flushing a warm shade of red.

 There’s a pause between them, their faces so close together that the moment holds all the intimacy of a kiss. He moves both hands to hold her face and waves of her hair spill out over his grasp. The look in his eye is somber and concentrated, as though he’s making sure she’s real. When he finds that she is, he gives a shaky sigh.

 Moving her hands away from his face, she shifts onto her tiptoes to bring her forehead up to his. It allows her arms to drape affectionately over his shoulders, crossing against his back and holding him there. They stand locked together, everything else forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This one was a bit messy but I'm all worked up about potential Fitz/Simmons danger now that the monolith has been revealed to be so important to Hydra and given all they know about it. I hope you enjoyed reading and please let me know what you think.
> 
> Is anyone else kind of looking forward to the hiatus just so that the fic is less dramatic post-eps and more indulgent fluff? (Who am I kidding - even this, my most plotty post-ep fic, ends up kind of fluffy!)


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